Rosa La Cerva
Basically, here is how I see it.
In the beginning, there was a warm liquid limbo before I was formed, a soft-skulled, wrinkly toed infancy that I shall never recall.
There was childhood, where most of our wounds are inflicted, where most of our joy seeps in. To grow up in the mountains of New Mexico, surrounded by the thick dense walls of adobe, is to live inside the earth, to sleep in a sort of boxy womb. I thought too much, as a young hungry little sprout, about how little time is left, and often I liked to be alone.
High school: boyfriends and assumed self-importance, the intense beautiful focus of academia. Chinese and French and piano and Emergency Medicine... Distance running, running-running-running.
And so the year after, because it was time, I wandered the earth a little bit, with a backpack on, and slept sometimes outside and sometimes in, and got lost sometimes without a map, or perhaps found my way. I met strange people, whose lives are made of wandering, and tried to learn from them, and finally made myself come back. Six countries, three continents, lots of time to think.
And here I am, and here you are; who knows, maybe we'll meet? We all know where we are going; it is the beauty of the journey that we are apt to forget.